


Been Looking For You

by webbless



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, loner!McCree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 03:47:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15186086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webbless/pseuds/webbless
Summary: McCree answers the recall a different man from the charming rogue Overwatch remembers. He saw Overwatch falling the last time and worries now he didn't do enough to stop it. He knows he needs to look, but he won't know what he's looking for until he finds it.





	Been Looking For You

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to take a break from my longer fic, [Under the Mask](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14727036/chapters/34040736), because I was having some major writer's block while trying to write the McCree chapters! So I wanted to try a shorter fic to play around with being in McCree's head a bit and then try again with UtM. 
> 
> This isn't beta read, so please let me know if you find any typos or errors or things that don't make sense! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

McCree answered the recall, but he doesn’t return. Not really. He arrives with the rest and makes himself at home while reminding himself that Gibraltar wasn’t--could never be--home for him. But he plays nice and gives his two cents in training because he is, frankly, the most qualified to do so. Reinhardt was a fighter, but the times called for a different kind of battle, and even though they give McCree _looks_ when he tells them how Blackwatch used to do things, they still accept his critiques and listen to his advice, and he sees these looks, too--that even though he’s quiet and reserved and sometimes makes them a little uneasy, they’re a stronger team than they would be without him, and they show their gratitude as best they can.

But when they’re not out fighting to save the world or training to be ready to save the world, McCree is more ghost than man. They catch glimpses of him--a cloud of cigar smoke on the cliffs, an empty bourbon bottle in the recycling, the shape of his hat in the shadows.

The only one who keeps trying to bring the cowboy back into the light is Genji--invitations to meditations and group outings, attempts to reminisce over drinks or training. McCree only smiles that big smile and responds in that low, smooth voice with something kind and noncommittal before excusing himself.

After the first month, Lena comments it would be easier if he would just be mean to them instead of being so damn polite but so damn distant.

Winston breaks first. He asks McCree to stay at the end of a meeting and then asks what he can do to help McCree feel at home here. McCree responds the same way he always does--with a polite non-answer and an easy smile that no longer looked even remotely honest to anyone.

“If I may be frank with you, McCree, you seem entirely unhappy here, and I can’t help but wonder why you came at all if you didn’t want to rejoin the team.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Winston’s eyes widen, as if he didn’t realize he was speaking until it was too late. He adjusts his glasses and stammers “Wh--what I mean is that, simply...well you see, it’s just that--”

“Overwatch exploded once before because there was no one to make sure it didn’t,” McCree interrupts, tilting his head down so his hat casts his eyes in shadow to disguise the hurt Winston has no business seeing. “It shouldn’t have happened, but it did. I saw it happening last time and didn’t do enough to stop it. This shouldn’t be my problem, but the last time Overwatch exploded, it fucked up too much and too many for me to sit back and watch it happen again. So that’s why I’m here, Winston: to make sure it don’t happen again. I’m glad to be doin’ good again, and I’m happy to play nice with the others, but at the end of the day, I’m here for one reason only.”

“That is not a responsibility you need to shoulder by yourself,” Winston says quietly, not even trying to meet his eyes.

“Maybe not. But I know the dirty tricks, and I’m willing to use them, and that’s not even half of what makes me the best man for the job.”

Winston, with no real response, only nods. McCree nods back and walks out, ready to continue his work of looking for anything he doesn’t like so he can shut it down before it explodes and takes half the world with it.

#

Soldier 76 is the next to break, and he does so much more literally. McCree wasn’t on the mission to investigate the vigilante, but he’s there during the meeting to introduce him after he’d been brought in. When Genji asks McCree later what gave the man away, McCree couldn’t say--maybe it was something in the way he held himself or the way he spoke, but not ten minutes into the meeting, McCree _knows_ . He fucking _knows_ and all he can think in that wild moment is _you fucked up_ and before he even understands the anger and hurt in his own heart, he’s on his feet and across the table and bloodying his fists to break Jack Morrison’s visor.

Reinhardt recovers from the shock first and wraps his arms around McCree to drag him away from Soldier, but the damage is done and the visor in pieces, revealing the former Strike Commander.

In his surprise, Reinhardt loosens his grip around the gunslinger, and McCree takes the moment to tear himself out of the old crusader’s arms and storm out of the room while everyone else fills the room with questions and tears. That wasn’t for McCree--he wouldn’t shed a single tear over the man he blamed for everything. This reunion, these heartfelt tears, these questions aren’t what he’s looking for, and with as much anger as he still has, he knows this moment isn’t for him.

He wonders, briefly, whether he’ll be thrown out for attacking, but after he’s given a few days to cool off, Winston makes it clear that while his actions were unexpected and unwelcome, they were also understood. No one really knows the circumstances surrounding McCree’s departure from Blackwatch, but they know how much Gabe had meant to him, and they know--or they can guess--how much the destruction of Overwatch ate at him when he was off somewhere far and gone and Gabe was left by himself to self-destruct and take the whole organization with him.

So they leave him alone and let McCree wander the base like a ghost, only reemerging to train or go on missions carefully scheduled so there would be as little overlap in McCree and Morrison's time spent on the same continent as possible.

It doesn’t quite register for him that part of what made him so angry at seeing Jack again was the feeling that this meant things weren’t really different--that everything could happen exactly as it did before all over again--until Genji leaves. Just like before, one day Genji was there, and the next, he’s gone. Genji left not too long before McCree did the first time, and McCree often found himself wondering in those years alone if maybe the ninja had seen something he hadn’t and knew to get the hell out of dodge before it was too late.

McCree doesn’t let himself fall back into that same sinkhole of questions and what-ifs and instead throws himself into his solo training and makes use of all the Blackwatch tricks he knows to keep a wary eye on everyone on base. The parallels weigh too heavy on him, and he hates that he can’t stop thinking of Genji as the canary in this coalmine. It leaves McCree restless and jumpy--like he knows there’s a bomb somewhere on base about to go off and no one would get their heads out of their own asses long enough to _just fucking listen_.

He manages to keep from snapping at anyone long enough to take his own good advice and listen in on snippets of conversations around the base to figure out the cyborg wasn’t gone for good.

And not two weeks later, McCree is the first to see his return--as he lights a cigar near the cliffs a little after midnight, he sees a transporter land. Genji hops out with a stiff-backed man and a floating Omnic. McCree huffs but doesn’t call attention to himself. But all three of them still seem to note his presence as he watches them, and in turn, all three look over their shoulders to his hiding spot.

His bitterness outweighs his curiosity, and he doesn’t come out to say hello.

Nor does he show himself around base the next day. He could guess the Omnic was likely Zenyatta, the monk who’d helped Genji find himself after he left Blackwatch. McCree figures he’d focus on the other man.

But despite knowing all the best ways to navigate the base and stay out of sight and the quickest routes to get from one side to the other, McCree finds no trace of the other man for the next two days. He starts to believe he’d simply imagined him until he shows up one night while McCree makes nice with the bottom of a bourbon bottle.

“You have been looking for me,” a voice says from behind McCree, and he jumps up and has Peacekeeper in his hand in a second. No one had snuck up on him in _years_ , and he curses as he brushes ash from the cigar he’d dropped off his shirt and stomps it out, keeping his eye and his gun on the man.

“Don’t even know who you are,” McCree says. The man eyes his gun, his dropped cigar, before tracing back up the length of his body, studying him. When the man’s eyes meet McCree’s again, he nods his head in a small bow of greeting.

“Hanzo.”

McCree lets silence fill the air for a moment while he tries to place the familiar name. “Genji’s brother?”

Hanzo nods, and McCree holsters his gun. Hanzo watches the gun, tilting his head to the side as if it confuses him.

“Never seen a gun before?” McCree asks, teasing a little because Hanzo looks entirely too stiff and serious, and McCree feels like he needs to bare his teeth a little after Hanzo managed to surprise him.

“I would not have expected your reaction to learning who I am to be putting your gun away.”

The words are much too heavy for McCree to handle, and the fight leaves him in a heavy sigh as he sits down again, back to Hanzo, pulling a fresh cigar from the case in his pocket. “If I shot everyone I didn’t trust, I reckon I’d be right lonely.”

“You are not lonely now?” Hanzo asks from behind him.

“‘Course not, sugar. How could I be lonely with a man handsome as you next to me?”

“The same way I could be lonely with someone as handsome as _you_ next to _me_ ,” Hanzo says.

It’s so unexpected and so ridiculous that McCree can’t help but chuckle at that for a minute, and when the laughter dies down, the smile stays on lips because he honestly can’t remember the last time he laughed and actually meant it, but the smile falls when he turns to say something else and sees no one there.

“Yeah,” he says to no one in particular. “That seems about right.”

#

Despite his ability to sneak through the base and keep an eye on everyone and everything, McCree doesn’t see Hanzo again until two weeks later during a training session, and then he only sees the reclusive man for only a minute before he disappears into the rafters as the simulation starts. And then the only sign of Hanzo is the downed bots with arrows sticking out of them, and as McCree leads his team to clear out the faux enemy forces and take control of a point, he realizes the arrows are _everywhere_.

He thinks at first Hanzo found an excellent place for himself that he can see so much of the field from one spot, and he frowns as he looks up and realizes there’s no one spot that would allow for that kind of range. And then he sees a flicker of gold--the barest peek of fabric on the edge of a building.

McCree directs his team onto the point and they set up and have a relatively easy time keeping the enemy bots away--there seem to be fewer of them than usual. When McCree reviews the footage later, he finds that many of the training bots had been downed by Hanzo before they even made it to the point but, despite the many camera angles Athena offers, McCree never catches sight of the archer in any of the footage.

That night, McCree doesn’t even try to sleep--he can’t stop thinking about training. That archer was something else, and McCree had watched and rewatched the footage for hours looking for any sign of him. All he saw was Hanzo looking around the room with interest as McCree had explained the objective, and when they dispersed to take starting positions, Hanzo looked directly at one of the cameras, turned, and disappeared. The training room shouldn’t even have blindspots on camera coverage--the point was to capture all of it and be able to study it.

McCree loses track of time sitting out behind Hangar 18, staring out at the sea with an unlit cigar in his mouth and thinking about that damn archer long enough for the sun to set and a light chill to set in when the sound of a lighter snaps him back to attention. He looks up in time to see Hanzo lighting one of McCree’s cigars and taking a deep breath.

He lets out an undignified squawk, which Hanzo ignores as he leans over and lights the cigar still hanging out of McCree’s mouth for him.

“For someone so accustomed to stealth, I would have thought you’d be more observant.”

“What are you doin’ here?” McCree asks, mind racing to figure out how Hanzo had managed to get a hold of his lighter and one of his cigars before McCree noticed him.

“You have been looking for me.”

“How’d you know?”

Hanzo closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and breathes out a thick cloud of smoke, and McCree has to stop himself from imagining the archer with his head back and eyes closed and lips puckered like that under him--

“You nearly missed a shot because you were so busy gawking,” Hanzo says, interrupting McCree’s racing thoughts.

“I didn’t even see you once,” McCree says in his defense, and it’s true. He couldn’t have been caught looking if he never actually saw the man.

“And yet you kept your gaze up where you knew I would be instead of on the room around you,” Hanzo says with a shake of his head. “Reckless.”

“Reckon I’d like to see more of you,” he says instead of defending himself because he knows it’s useless.

Hanzo opens his eyes as he exhales more smoke and McCree freezes under that intense gaze.

“Is that so.”

“Sure is,” McCree says, composing himself enough to flash an easy grin and a roguish wink.

Hanzo pulls the cigar from his lips and McCree pulls his own away from his mouth as Hanzo reaches out and places his hand on the back of McCree’s neck, leaning forward as he does, and McCree moves into the touch, licking his lips. Hanzo’s eyes are drawn to the movement, and he watches McCree’s lips as he pulls him closer.

“Perhaps you could see more of me,” Hanzo says, then trails off, eyes still on McCree’s lips.

“Yeah?” McCree prompts, and is rewarded with a quick smirk as Hanzo meets his eyes.

“...if your view were not impaired by your hat,” Hanzo says, then in a quick movement, lifts the hand on McCree’s neck to knock the hat forward, covering McCree’s face. McCree sputters and rushes to right himself, but when he replaces his hat on his head, Hanzo is already gone.

“Damn,” McCree says into the night, and he can’t be sure, but he thinks he hears a soft chuckle in response.

#

Hanzo is a different person during the day--a goddamn ghost only spotted in passing, startling those who turn a corner quickly enough to catch a glimpse before he disappears again. In the rare moments someone spots him, it’s usually with his brother, and then he’s still quiet and solemn as ever with no trace of the teasing smirk McCree’s seen on his face twice now. It hurts McCree to see Hanzo looking so tense and uncomfortable as he speaks in hushed tones on roofs and high walkways with his brother, but those are the only times the cowboy catches more than a glimpse of him, so he sometimes lingers and watches and waits for that heavy grimace to turn into anything else.

After the third time McCree stops to stare at Hanzo while he’s chatting with Genji, McCree hears a knock on his door. He checks the clock--almost one in the morning, and he was just about to head to the kitchen for some coffee or outside for a smoke, so he throws on a pair of pants that are a little too loose and answers the door to find Hanzo on the other side.

McCree nods at him, then throws on a too-thin shirt and grabs his serape to fight the chill and follows Hanzo outside to the little spot on the other side of hangar 18 where Hanzo’d found him twice before, and they pass his bottle of bourbon back and forth for a long time before the silence grates on McCree like nails on his skin.

“Been lookin’ for you,” he says, and it’s not until the words are out that he realizes he’s been waiting for Hanzo to say it.

“I have noticed.”

“Don’t see too much of you.”

“But you’d like to see more,” Hanzo says, his voice light and teasing.

“Sure would,” McCree says, and pulls his hat off and sets it to the side to avoid a repeat of the last time they were out here together.

“Everyone else seems content to avoid me.”

“Avoid you back,” McCree corrects, eyes following the movement of Hanzo’s lips wrapping around the mouth of the bourbon bottle.

“Hm?”

“They’re content to avoid you back. Reckon they’d be friendly if you weren’t avoidin’ them.”

Hanzo takes another drink, considering this. Then, as he hands the bottle back, says, “You would know.”

And it’s true--McCree’s been as much of a ghost around the base as Hanzo, and he’s been around months longer. He knows plenty about everyone inside these walls because he watches them all from the shadows, keeping a careful eye and taking it upon himself to make sure no one follows the same path as Reyes. But he’s been avoiding every one of them when he doesn’t have to interact with him. And Hanzo noticed. He smiles and raises an eyebrow and tilts his head in a way he knows makes him look rugged and charming.

“You been lookin’ for me, archer?”

Hanzo’s lips curve into a smirk and he lets out a single chuckle as he looks back. “No, cowboy. But you are difficult to miss.”

#

McCree uses this newfound knowledge like a bell: he lets himself be seen in hallways, peering into dark corners and high walkways and he spends as much time in practice looking for the archer as he does completing objectives. Each time, he’s rewarded with the archer seeking him out that evening for a drink or a smoke, always with the same greeting.

“You have been looking for me.”

The words are like a lifeline, and when they’re separated by missions, McCree feels a weight on his chest that doesn’t go away until he can hear Hanzo say it again, soft and teasing or gentle and questioning or--once, after a loud argument with Genji--impatient and sharp.

McCree letting himself be seen has the added effect of making him more approachable. Genji and Lena get after him first, but it’s only a few more weeks before Mei, Hana, and Lucio decide he’s not as scary as he originally seemed and warm right up to him, even if he’s not as chatty as Genji swears he used to be. Genji tries to bring McCree out of the shadows with easy banter and friendly jokes, and even comments that they've traded places--now it is McCree hiding away and watching people with suspicion while Genji charms everyone he meets. McCree surprises Genji by smiling a little at that, and he surprises himself by meaning it. 

He lets himself fall into an easy rhythm--training, missions, chatting with his fellow agents, and he finds himself opening up a little more without really meaning to. He even manages to be in the same room with Morrison several times without feeling the need to beat him senseless, which is made easier when he has his late-night visits with Hanzo to look forward to. These pass too quickly for McCree’s liking, and he finds himself looking forward to this time more and more and before he figure out exactly what it is they have, they’re spending time together almost every day as long as they’re both in the same place. They even drink together and flirt while away on missions together.

And it definitely is flirting, McCree decides, after the third time Hanzo knocks his hat off instead of kissing him. McCree finds he doesn’t mind this, though he’d like it a lot more if those soft looks and light touches would become something more.

He doesn’t realize how much he needs those times with Hanzo until one day in early May when the archer doesn’t show. McCree had been sure to let himself be seen all day looking around, keeping a watchful eye for any trace of Hanzo--even after months on base, the man was still a ghost when he didn’t want to be seen, even though McCree knew he had finally gotten around to making a friend or two because he actually managed to catch sight of him talking to people other than his brother and Zenyatta once or twice. But McCree passes the entire night waiting outside hangar 18 with no sign of the archer.

McCree finally drags himself back inside at dawn and stops by Hanzo’s room to knock. He gets no answer, tries again, and after knocking a third time decides he looks as desperate as he feels, which is not a good look on him. He returns to his room and gets a few fitful hours of sleep, but when he wakes, he doesn’t feel rested.

He seeks Genji out as soon as it feels like a reasonable time to do so.

“Hey, Genji. Lookin’ for your brother. You seen him?”

“Did you need something from him?”

“Nah, you know,” McCree says, rubbing the back of his neck with his non-metal hand.

Genji stares at McCree for a long time, that visor boring into him and making him want to shuffle his feet. But he keeps himself still and lowers his hand from his neck, affecting the most casual posture he can. But Genji was Blackwatch, too, and he knows he isn’t fooling him.

“You will not see him today,” Genji says, finally, after far too long.

“Why not?”

“Hanzo and I have come a long way since I revealed to him I am still alive, but he is still filled with guilt and anger,” Genji shakes his head and clasps his hands behind his back. “Today is the...anniversary,” Genji says. He doesn’t need to say what it’s the anniversary of. “I had hoped we were doing well enough that we could spend this day together. Talking. Healing. But he has disappeared. His few belongings are still in his room, however, so I can only hope he will return tomorrow.”

McCree manages to keep his composure well enough to push the conversation to a safer topic before bringing it to what he hopes is a natural end before retreating to his room.

Athena confirms that Hanzo is nowhere on base and has his comm turned off so she’s not able to locate him. All McCree can do is ask Athena to let him know as soon as Hanzo returns.

He wants to kick himself for not realizing sooner. When last they met, Hanzo had seemed uneasy about something, and when McCree pressed, the archer would only say he was thinking about the coming days.

“Now don’t go borrowin’ trouble, honey,” McCree had said, not realizing Hanzo had literally meant the next few days and not the broad future.

“Of course not,” Hanzo said after a moment’s consideration. “I have plenty of trouble right here.”

His tone had been far too serious for McCree’s liking, but they had established a careful balance in their months of whatever the hell it was they did together, and McCree had already pushed plenty that night so he only passed the bottle back and watched as Hanzo drank it down.

#

McCree spends the next four days falling into old habits: navigating the shadows and still-secret passageways, keeping to himself except when absolutely necessary, distancing himself from everyone else even as he keeps a watchful eye for any trace of Hanzo.

He’s only just lit his cigar when Athena notifies him that Hanzo has returned, and he stubs it out and is on his feet before fully processing what he’s doing. But he doesn’t stop himself--his feet carry him directly to Hanzo’s room, and he knocks before he can talk himself out of it because he's been looking for the archer since he disappeared and he doesn't want to give him time to do it again.

Hanzo greets him with no shirt, and McCree doesn’t bother to hide the path of his gaze over those strong muscles before settling on Hanzo’s face. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, but damn if he isn’t still the most beautiful thing McCree has ever seen.

“Been lookin’ for you,” McCree says, voice soft and quiet, like an apology.

Hanzo tilts his head and looks at McCree consideringly for a moment before stepping aside to let him in.

Hanzo had been to McCree’s room many times over the past few months--sometimes Hanzo would wait inside the door for McCree to grab a bottle of alcohol or another cigar to follow Hanzo outside, and sometimes, they drank in McCree's room when it was too cold to go out. But McCree had never been to Hanzo’s room. The tiny step across the threshold feels almost like leaping across an abyss, and he lets out a heavy breath when the door closes behind him, locking them in.

It doesn’t surprise McCree that it looks exactly like his own room--so sparsely decorated as to appear unlived in. Every belonging placed strategically so it could be packed on a moment’s notice to disappear for as long as needed.

The thought hurts more than McCree cares to admit--that Hanzo could disappear with no notice again and really be gone next time. He kicks off his boots before following Hanzo deeper into the room.

Hanzo picks up a bottle of something alcoholic McCree doesn't recognize from his bedside table and takes a sip before handing it to McCree and taking a seat at the edge of his bed. McCree sets the bottle down and follows Hanzo, crowding into his space, stradling Hanzo on the bed, and the archer responds by placing his warm hands on McCree’s thighs.

Hanzo tilts his head up to watch McCree’s face, and McCree laces his fingers behind Hanzo’s neck.

“Hope you stayed out of trouble,” McCree says, leaning close to breathe the words on Hanzo’s lips and watching as Hanzo’s eyes fall closed.

Hanzo doesn’t respond, so McCree pulls up a little to press his lips to the archer’s forehead, and Hanzo wraps his arms around him, pulling McCree closer to press their chests together and McCree takes in a ragged breath at the feel of Hanzo’s hard chest pressed against his and his strong thighs under McCree’s own.

“Of course,” Hanzo says, his already-deep voice coming out gravelly and harsh like he hasn’t used it for days. “I have plenty of trouble right here.”

McCree smiles at the softness in his tone, like he’s trying to tease but is too tired for it, and he places a gentle kiss above first one closed eye and then the other before wrapping himself tighter around Hanzo.

“Been lookin’ for you,” McCree says it again because it’s important, and though it’s all he’s ready to say, he tries to fill the words with what he actually means and hopes Hanzo understands and won’t be scared off. He feels the weight of his own words and shudders a little, knows he has to play it careful because if Hanzo decides to take off again, he’ll have no way to pull him back, so he settles there, rubbing little circles into the archer’s back and pressing soft kisses to his temples, his nose, his cheeks, every bit of his face he can reach until Hanzo loosens his grip and McCree freezes, worried suddenly he’s about to be told to leave.  

But Hanzo doesn’t try to push McCree from his lap, and instead pulls him forward, the adjustment awkward and slow as Hanzo drags McCree farther onto the bed and then lies back with McCree still on top of him. Eventually, McCree shifts a little so he’s on his side and wrapped around Hanzo, who welcomes the new position by shuffling closer, and he falls asleep to Hanzo rubbing the back of his hand and breathing gently in his arms.

#

McCree makes use of every bit of restraint and compartmentalization and denial he’s ever learned to convince himself he isn’t upset when he wakes up to an empty bed. He sits up only when he’s sure he hears no sounds from the ensuite bathroom, and then he only sits up so he can rest his head in his hands and curse himself for chasing Hanzo away.

Months of shared drinks and teasing comments didn’t necessarily mean anything more, and they hadn’t talked about any of this before McCree showed up and all but threw himself at the archer just as he’d returned from what was likely a week-long exercise in self-flagellation and all McCree could think about was how badly he wanted to be held by those strong arms and kiss his sadness away and not whether Hanzo might still want to be alone or if he even wanted this.

He’s grateful, at least, that he fell asleep fully clothed because it means he can escape quickly now that he realizes he needs to--there won’t be any chance of being caught half-naked with his tail between his legs. He only needs to grab his boots and get gone.

He manages to pull the covers off of him and kick his legs off the bed, plant his feet on the cold floor, before he has his head in his hands again as the regret and disappointment threaten to overtake him, and he needs that moment of stillness to school his thoughts and expression into something calm and friendly so he won’t look as distressed as he feels in case he runs into anyone in the halls on his way back to his own room.

When the door slides open, McCree jumps to his feet, already trying to form an explanation for why he’s still here and still sitting instead of using the time Hanzo gave him to escape unnoticed, but the words die on his lips when he sees the archer look at him with one eyebrow raised and carrying two steaming mugs. The smell of coffee hits him as soon as Hanzo is fully in the room, and the sound of the door sliding shut rings too loud in McCree’s ears as he takes in the sight of Hanzo looking curiously at him and holding _two mugs_ and stepping forward slowly, like _he’s_ worried about scaring _McCree_ off.

When he’s close enough, Hanzo holds out one of the mugs, and McCree takes it but can’t stop staring at that raised eyebrow and the soft uptick of those lips, and he can tell without even tasting the coffee that it’s exactly the way he likes it even though he'd never told Hanzo that's how he takes it--a little too strong and entirely too sweet.

Hanzo sets his own mug down on the bedside table, and McCree follows suit before falling back to sit on the bed and he lets out a heavy breath, like all the wind’s been knocked out of him as Hanzo steps closer and crowds into his space and settles his hands on McCree’s neck. McCree immediately wraps his arms around Hanzo’s waist and lets his chin rest on Hanzo’s muscled abdomen to stare up at his face and McCree hopes his face expresses just how much he'd like to never stop looking.

“You have been looking for me,” Hanzo says, and his voice is too gentle for someone who’s likely just been through the wringer himself, so careful and sweet after seeing McCree’s panic like he’d fucked this all up.

McCree presses his face into Hanzo’s chest, lets Hanzo run his fingers through his hair to soothe him and lets out a heavy sigh before looking up again to respond with a smile he hopes looks more confident than he feels. “Reckon I been lookin’ for you my whole damn life.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it!  
> I kind of like Mean McCree because I really do feel like he would wear that charm like a mask to hide how he doesn't really feel like he can trust anyone anymore after what happened with Reyes.  
> Now that this is out, I'm hoping to get back to Under the Mask, which is a longer fic I'm working on; I hope you'll check it out!
> 
> Edit: I made some minor edits and revisions for typos and such.  
> THANK YOU SO MUCH for all your kind comments!!! Y'all are entirely too sweet <3 I'm so glad you like it! :3


End file.
